


Cream Without the Coffee

by Hella_Queer



Series: Let Me Borrow That Top [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessiveness, light pain kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: Mike enjoys a little breakfast in bed.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Series: Let Me Borrow That Top [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793875
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	Cream Without the Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Andy is the idea waiter so this one is also thanks to them!

Bill was not an early riser. He kept late hours and liked to keep the curtains closed and _hated_ when Richie came in on the weekends using the spare key, just to jump into bed singing **Walking On Sunshine** while Mike did absolutely nothing to stop him. He was an adorable grump, grunting like a caveman and finding the softest fabric to wrap around himself. Many of Mike’s sweaters were tucked away in Bill’s drawers, not that Mike minded. 

But he was also a vision while he slept. The worry lines in his face disappeared, his body relaxed, his hair fluffed out across his pillow. The first time Bill caught Mike staring he slowly turned red and tried to smother him with their winter blankets. Now he welcomes it, finding comfort in having Mike with him as he re-enters the land of the living. Even now as Mike strokes the shadows under his eyes he leans into him, breathing in deep, sinking deeper into the pocket of warmth his body created during the night. 

“Hey, sleepy,” Mike says, kissing where his thumb had been just a moment before. “Can I expect you out of bed before the afternoon?”

Bill groans. “Too early to move.”

“It’s ten-thirty.”

“....and?”

Mike chuckles, kissing his forehead before beginning to tug the covers away. “You can sleep on the couch after breakfast.” Bill grumbles up a storm, rolling over into the fetal position, kicking Mike away when he tries to tickle the bottom of his foot. He would not be leaving this bed without a fight! The very thought weighs him down and he’s pretty sure one of his eyes is so heavy he’s afraid it’ll fall out if he sits up. 

“Can’t you bring me food?” Bill asks, trying for cute and missing by a few feet. He reluctantly rubs the sleep from his eyes and flops onto his back, limbs flung akimbo. He’s wearing one of Mike’s tank tops and...absolutely nothing else. 

Mike is sure that his boxers are somewhere under the covers but he’s less concerned about that and more interested in his boyfriend's morning wood. They may be older now, with aching joints and thinning hair, but it seems that the universe has repaid them in a higher than average sex drive as compensation for their trauma. It’s become a running joke between the Losers, but Mike has no intentions of sharing this with anyone else. 

Bill is still talking, something about coffee. He doesn’t notice Mike settling between his legs until he starts kissing his way up his thigh. He finds a fading bruise and sinks his teeth into it, relishing in Bill’s hitched gasp, in the stark impression of teeth that he leaves behind. He likes it so much he makes sure to give Bill’s other leg a matching set. 

“On second thought,” Mike says in between kisses and licks, spreading Bill’s legs wider. “You can stay right where you are.”

“Yeah?” Bill asks, not really expecting an answer. He goes to remove his shirt before stopping, remembering that Mike likes him like this, surrounded by him and nothing else. He does however push the shirt above his waist, inviting Mike to leave his mark on his hips as well. He traces over them with his thumbs and they throb, sparking a jolt of pleasure that flies up one side of Bill’s body and down the other. 

Mike Hanlon wasn’t a selfish man but you wouldn’t know that by the way he holds Bill down with one arm across his stomach, his free hand fisting the base of cock. He laps at the head with an eager tongue, catching the precome that pearls at the tip. He curves his tongue around the shaft as he swallows him down, down, until his lips meet his fist. He isn’t neat about it, letting his spit drip down to slick the way, so when he returns to the head he can stroke Bill fast and loose. 

Bill melts deeper into the mattress, slipping a hand underneath his shirt to play with one of his nipples. Mike hears his quiet moan and can’t help but feel a little envious. He knows just how wonderfully sensitive Bill’s chest is, and Mike wishes his mouth could be in two places at once. He settles for dipping lower, moving south until he can get his mouth around his balls. He sucks gently, a great contrast to the way he’s pulling on Bill’s cock now, slow and tight, stopping every other stoke to pay extra attention to the head, thumb and forefinger playing with the steady supply of precome that Mike uses to ease the glide of his fingers. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Bill groans, drawing the word out long and heavy. The hand not busy under his shirt travels to his thigh, to the fresh bruise that he can feel every time his muscles tense. He traces the indentation with his fingers, feeling the shallow grooves, knowing they’re unique to one man and one man only. Knowing that he’s the only one who gets to have this, have _him_. Have Mike. 

He presses down hard and his leg curves inward. He does it again and his toes curl. Again and he’s trying to thrust up into Mike’s hand, the sharp–then–dull pulse of pain lighting him up from behind, leaving pleasure to bask in the spotlight. Mike flattens his hand against Bill’s trembling belly and returns his attention to his shaft. He takes him down to the root, until his nose is buried in neatly trimmed pubic hair. Bill smells like sweat and sex and _them_ , their shared soap and body wash, laundry detergent and the sheets and Mike’s shirt that he wore the day before. 

“I-I-I want t-to—“ Bill digs his heels into the mattress, words failing him. The hand holding him down has moved to his other thigh. Mike caresses his handiwork, admires it, before pressing down on it hard enough for the pain to momentarily take center stage. It doesn’t last long but the reprieve, the release, has Bill shuddering, thrusting rhythmless into Mike’s mouth. 

Mike let’s him.

Bill begs for him to hold him tighter and he does. Bill tells him to keep going and he does. Bill showers him in stuttering, stopping praise; the heat and size of his hands, the sloppy wet give of his mouth, the marks on his skin that bloom bright red and deep purple and mottled yellow. It feels like with each inhale he’s rushing to get rid of the air in his chest, desperate for Mike to know that he has him, he _has_ him, he’s _yours yours all yours only yours_ _**please!**_

Mike gets his hands on his ass and lifts his hips, pushing him even deeper into his mouth as Bill shakes and moans and fills his mouth, muscles pulled taut. He sobs when Mike sucks hard on the sensitive head, milking him dry, holding his softening cock in his mouth until Bill has tears in his eyes. 

Bill wonders, after long minutes of lying in absolute bliss, if he should start putting up a fight every morning, if this is where he ends up. He rolls his head to the side to find Mike watching him again, gaze dark, pupils blown, lips red and a little wet. Bill drags his gaze down the bare skin of his chest, then repeats that trail with his fingers. He eyes the prominent bulge in Mike’s sweatpants, his lethargy quickly evaporating as he takes his place between long legs, thoughts of sleeping in long forgotten. 

“Good morning, Mikey.”

**Author's Note:**

> (posted this at 3am so if you see mistakes that’s my excuse)


End file.
